La Vie en Rose
by spaghettiboi64
Summary: Extremely self indulgent. John Egbert is a programmer from the States who moves to Canada to escape a girl, only to fall into the lap of another. Rose Lalonde is a woman, lost without her future, who happens upon a vulnerable John. Romance. I guess. Rated M for RAPE, VIOLENCE AND CONSENSUAL SEX. PLEASE BE WARNED.
1. Chapter 1

\- BE JOHN.

It's six thirty in the morning and the sun has barely peaked over the horizon. You smile, and shudder at the cold.

It's cold.

The only reason you're outside is to let off some steam from the night before. A late night of writing code and surviving on double-doubles, has become your daily routine, of course. Sleep at eight AM, wake up at 5 PM, do it again.

You have no room for a personal life. The last of it, you left far behind when you left the states. You don't want to think about her again, but you do anyway.

Your cigarette drops ashes on your exposed hands, and you wince. You tap off the burnt tobacco, and continue to smoke the menthol as you muse over your life. Much like you do every morning.

You think of her hair. Her grin. Her teeth she had shaven into fangs. You were into her. Maybe because you were both outcasts. Maybe because you thought her blue lipstick was intriguing. Maybe because you thought you could "Tame Vriska the Bitch", as you were told by the dickheads in class. And you thought she was into you. You were wrong. She had moved on from you well before you discovered her, fingers deep in the crotch of a blind paralegal that sat in on your law class.

You should've seen that coming.

She didn't think the Room was a cinematic tour de force.

She made fun of your love of Ghostbusters.

And she thought that piano playing was for pussies.

You were destroyed, and in the span of two hours, you were on the streets of Seattle, homeless, depressed, and with about eight hundred dollars in your account. But to be fair, it could have been worse.

You were lucky enough to have your father live so close by the school, where you finished your last semester of it, and got the _fuck_ out of the states.

Canada always interested you. Maybe it was because of bagged milk.

Canada likes their tech upstarts, and you easily fit into the groove of freelance coding. It was easy to dive into your work, especially to escape the numbness of the past.

You gaze solemnly at the ground like you always do, and toss the butt into the snow. You say you'll clean it in the morning. You never do.

\- JOHN: WAKE UP OBNOXIOUSLY EARLY

You do as the voice that acts as your personal narrator asks, and you wake up.

At 9:30

AM.

AKA: You got ninety minutes of sleep, sucker.

You grimace at the blinking blue LCD display, and cover your eyes. You are determined to sleep again. Determined you say.

Of course, nothing you do goes as planned, so at 10, you're dressed in your normal attire. White button up shirt, grey jeans and washed out canvas shoes from Wal-Mart. You are feeling extra fancy today, so oh, what the hell, throw on the slime tie. Why not? Who are you trying to impress?

As if answering the question posed, "Nobody." you murmur, subconsciously wanting to try and have some sort of "casual" encounter with a pretty lady. Which hasn't happened. And you think to yourself that it probably will _never_ happen. But you shut those thoughts out, and finish tying your tie, because god _dammit_ you are going to try and feel good about yourself today.

Even if you feel like you just crashed a plane into the Las Vegas strip, like a certain movie you love to quote.

Which you do.

Regardless, you are on your bike by 10:45. Your first bit of actual free time in Toronto. Well, besides the bit of time you had that one day that you finished the login page for some stupid media group's server, and you used that time to watch Raising Arizona for the millionth time.

It wasn't that you didn't have free time, it was just that you _sucked at spending_ your free time.

You bike and weave through streets and past book shops, and cupcake stores, areas clearly gentrified after years and years of property upticks. You shake your head, and pedal onward, your trusty Huffy bike getting you around.

The destination? Corktown Common. There's a park there, that's been recommended to you on the forums you frequent. You would like to take the morning, and maybe even day to relax. You bob and weave past cars, graceful, as well as respectful to the surroundings. You're not trying to set a new land speed record, you're biking to a nice park.

The snow has (mostly) thawed by mid morning, and you arrive at the park. You roll your bike over to the rack, and lock it in place, making sure to have it secured. You don't want to lose your bike like _last time_.

It's secured, and you wander your way over to a bench in the middle of the small woodland-style area they've set up. It's calm and serene, and you wonder why the park isn't packed at this time of day, in this beautiful of weather, and you check your phone to see, oh. It's Monday.

That's why.

You chuckle a breathy laugh, and you take off your glasses. Pulling your headphones out of your pocket, you decide to listen to some of that Spotify your mom would tell you about. Despite your love of computers and video games, you weren't one for experimenting with new music applications. But, of course, you fell in love with it, and now you won't stop using it, and you think to yourself that the company could easily pay you with nothing more than a pat on the back to scream its praises to the heavens.

You play a classic. Duke Ellington. "Take the A Train"

And despite the upbeat tempo of the song and the piercing saxophone, you find yourself nodding off on the park bench, and head thrown back over the backrest, you fall asleep.

\- IT'S TIME TO BE SOMEBODY NEW

Who?

\- THE LOVE INTEREST

Oh.

\- YES. SO. BE THE LOVE INTEREST

Isn't that rather sexist? To be known as the "love interest" explicitly?

\- EXCUSE ME

Yes, it's rather misogynistic to be using that tone of speech when referring to a female lead. I can assure you I am not just a "love interest"

\- WELL SO-RRY

You should be.

\- NEVERMIND. BE ROSE.

After an extremely odd dream where you call out an author on his sexism within the realm of the work he's writing, you wake up, feeling moderately refreshed, and slightly sore. After all, a Toyota Corolla isn't the best bed to have, but hey. It's the only one you've got. And you aren't about to take a handout from the people who put you here.

You wipe the crust from your eyes, as you throw your head up from the seat. You hit the ceiling with a resounding THUD and you remember where you are.

You sigh, and shake the crusty feeling off of you, and you check your phone.

Aaaaand… where is it?

It was on the floor of the car. You swear it was.

Maybe you set it in the little lip above your radio?

Your eyes float up from the floorboards to the stereo, where a small cavity rested above an aftermarket radio. Except…

A.) The radio is no longer sitting in its normal spot.

B.) The lip is devoid of the change that usually sits there as well.

And you also notice

C.) The driver's side window is broken.

In a panic, you jump out of your car and into the abandoned parking lot which you call home, and full-on sprint to the trunk of your car. You fumble the keys out of your pocket aaannnddd

Okay. Clothes, check. Laptop, check, knitting needle collection, check. You sigh, and shake your head. It could've been much worse. The sun sits directly above you, and you feel a wave of sadness wash over you.

There's no way you're getting that phone or your radio back. You barely get enough money for gas selling scarves on your Etsy.

Not only that, but you know you can't possibly sleep in the car with the window broken.

You are overwhelmed and feel flustered and upset.

You never feel flustered.

You are ROSE LALONDE, a brilliant woman, who might have made a few mistakes in her promising career as a psychotherapist, but regardless a good woman nonetheless.

And now at 22 you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of a Blockbuster parking lot.

You need a drink.

But no. You know that won't make anything better. You can't slip up now. It's been an entire month since the incident that made you clean.

Anyway, there's no time for woe! You have to figure out how to get back on your feet again!

However, you aren't going to make it very far by being this upset. You need a stress relief, and you know just the place.

It's a long walk to Corktown Common, but once you see the bright orange trees, and smell the air around it, you feel it was well worth it. You shudder at the cold but you pull your bright purple sleeves over your arms, and you begin to walk along the leaves where your mother used to take you.

You close your eyes, and you're 8 again, wandering around, holding your stuffed kitty. It's like yesterday.

But mom is dead. Long dead. Roxy raised you, and Roxy isn't anywhere to be found.

You sigh, but continue walking to your favourite spot, enjoying the nostalgia, until…

You make it to the bench.

Someone's sitting there.

Even worse, he's _sleeping_ on the bench.

It's not like he looks _homeless_ , he's just some dude with his headphones in, and from a distance he kind of looks like Jake, but with much better taste in clothes, and a rather neat tattoo on his forearm.

Still, intrigue aside, this man is asleep on _your_ bench. And that angers you.

Well, it doesn't anger you. It mildly irks you, but essentially with you, that's the same thing.

You walk carefully over the walkway to the solid mahogany bench where this mysterious man sleeps, and closer you see just how _goddamn tall_ he is. And kinda cute, but it doesn't matter because he's interrupting your relaxation so you tap him on the face.

\- JOHN: BE TAPPED

You are rudely awoken for the second time today, but this time, it's not your psyche that awakens you, it's a girl.

A rather cute girl, in fact. One with ruffled blonde hair, black lipstick, and wearing a t-shirt layered on top of a purple top, and wearing jeans that are definitely not for this type of weather.

She taps you again.

"AWAKE. YES. SORRY." You stammer out, composing yourself, and preparing to apologize more profusely once you completely wake up. "I fell asleep listening to music, it was just nice out, and I didn't get any sleep last night-"

The girl cuts you off. "I didn't mean to wake you up so rudely, it's just-" she cuts off and glances around somewhat embarrassed "I come to this spot when I'm upset, so I'm just here to calm down a bit. I didn't mean to take it out on you. I'm sorry."

You tongue the inside of your mouth for a moment before she speaks again.

"If you don't want to leave, could you at least scoot somewhat to the right?" her hands gesture to the left, but you're a little too groggy/somewhat flustered to be bothered to comment. You slide to the right, and she sits about a foot away from you and props her face up on her knees and stares at the ground.

She is clearly very upset.

"I-I," you attempt to stammer out "I didn't mean to cause any trouble or-or upset anyone, I just liked this spot." Your voice squeaks out the last part, cracking like you had just gone through a second puberty. You wonder why you are so nervous, this isn't like it's intense conflict, it's just a seat in a park that you took on accident.

Maybe it's because you're actually talking to someone outside of the home.

Perhaps it's because she's a girl.

A _very_ pretty girl.

She sighs at your apology, and begins to monologue. You wonder why, but hey, not your life.

"I'm normally not this forward with people, I've just had a long day. It's noon, and I've had a long day." She chuckles bitterly "I live in a car, and it's been broken into. My cell's been stolen, so has the radio, and the window's broken. I can't sleep in it anymore, not when it's this cold. I just-" She takes a breath, her face turning red. "I just can't catch a break."

You gaze around her, and you feel awkward. You don't know this woman, and she's telling her story to you. Should you say sorry? Hug her? You were never good at this talking to new people thing. The only thing that slips out is "Holy shit, I'm so sorry."

You feel that is adequate enough and she looks at you with moderate appreciation. She smiles.

"Thank you. It's pleasant to feel sympathy, even if it's from a stranger." she stops "What brings you to my nostalgic bench?"

You're surprised she actually wants to continue this line of conversing, but nonetheless you are excited. Perhaps more excited than you're used to. Normally this would drain you emotionally and physically but you feel more invigorated.

You have a crush on this mysterious bench woman.

You decide to answer. "I dunno. I've only been in Toronto for about two months, and I haven't explored the city. I like parks, and I like the cold, and I've been working nonstop to get through a bad breakup that I'm _still_ hung up on after a year, so I definitely have felt like shit, and needed some of this nature stuff." You take a breath.

"Nature stuff?" She laughs, and my _god_ does her laugh send a chill up your spine in the best possible way. It's regal and conservative and she has this air of pomp about her, without sounding like a self-absorbed word that you do not say because you are a gentleman _dammit_ and you do not call women that.

You return her laugh, despite blushing up a storm "Yeah, the stuff that makes up nature! The trees and the sky and the- yeah." You trail off, and the conversation dies, much to your dismay. Luckily it's picked right back up again.

"I'm Rose. Lalonde. Rose Lalonde." She sticks her hand out, and you shake it daintily. Her skin is so soft and you have a brief intrusive thought of skinning her and making a bed out of her skin and _why the fuck did you think of that you psychopath._ You gesture to yourself. "John. Me John Egbert- I mean- I'm John. Egbert. Tha-that's my last name."

You're a moron, but she laughs again, and you swear you feel your spine tingle.

"It's a pleasure to meet you John."


	2. Chapter 2

\- BE ROSE AGAIN

Finally.

You and John have decided to walk through the woods, and talk. He's the only person you really know now, and you feel that he thinks the same. It's almost like it's a contrivance, like you're a character in some romance movie, but you're not one to judge, especially not in this situation. John is stammering through his life before he came to Canada, and you stare and listen, smiling and commenting when appropriate.

"Luckily, I had money in my pocket from work, and my dad didn't live too far away from school, so it could've been a lot worse. But it still constituted the worst time in my life. After that, couldn't bear to live in the same city as her. So I didn't." He laughs, with a wry cynicism that belies his anger, but it's quickly covered up. "So, _Rose_ ," he says your name with a drawn out lilt, "Why are you in Ontario?"

You knew the question was coming, but you still found yourself without an answer to it. Instead of answering, you smiled. "Figuring things out.," you say. John smirks at you. "Mysterious. I'll get it out of you one day." Immediately, he blushes and backpedals. "No-not that I'd do anything to like hurt you, I'm not a murderer or serial killer or anything!" He holds his hands up, like he's showing you that he's unarmed. His face is beet red.

You can't help but let out a giggle. "No, you're okay. I believe that you aren't a murderer, serial or otherwise." He giggles too. A nervous giggle, and his lips pull over his gums and he shows his teeth which are very large and white. He briefly reminds you of Jake again. Only briefly though. And then he's back to being John.

John, a boy, no, a man, you've just met. You struggle to call him a man, his features are much too boyish. Tousled hair, big horn-rimmed glasses, thin, lanky body. They all scream "Boy." But his tattoo, his five o'clock shadow, and his clear smart- well, _almost_ smart attire tell you, that this person is definitely at least 20. Maybe even 21.

He pulls a cigarette and… your Hot Metre™ has dropped by a few points. He lights up, and the wind blows acrid smoke in your face. You swat it away.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't ask. Is it cool if I smoke?"

Most guys you knew said it as a formality. 'Is it cool if I smoke?' not that he was gonna put it out if you said no. You grimace and say "Not to be rude, but I'd prefer it if you wouldn't." His smirk and cheery demeanor droops and he tosses the cig aside, crushing it beneath his foot. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to not ask. I've been meaning to quit." You smile a rough smile and reassure him it's okay.

The walk around the park is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. You decide to break the silence the only way you know how. By embarrassing yourself.

"I live in a car." John stops suddenly, startled.

"What?"

"I live in a car." You repeat, more assuredly. You continue. "It's a 2010 Corolla, so it's not that bad, but I still live in a car."

John shifts his eyes around. "I honestly thought you were joking with me. But you really live in a car?" You nod your head. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Rose. That… really sucks."

You've just met him, and the way he says your name disappointingly gives you a hard pang of guilt. This boy, man, _guy_ whatever, gets under your skin. In the best kind of way, mind you, but still under your skin. John speaks again.

"Please let me know if I'm overstepping my bounds, I've just met you and all- Jeez uh…" He rubs his face and plays with his hair, and you suddenly notice how blue his eyes are and goddammit, you can't be into another person again, especially not a guy. John is nervously darting his eyes around like he's scared someone is listening into your conversation, but the park is empty on a monday afternoon.

"Uh, haha, hmmm… maybe you-you'd like to oh my god i'm a moron stay with me for like a day or two orifyoudontthatsokaypleasedontthinkimcreepy" He stammers through that last part, and he's turned bright red again. Wow, he gets ruffled easily.

The thought did trace your mind to ask, but you've just met him, and you don't know what kind of person he is. Maybe he's putting on an act, but he also seems so goddamn _sincere_ about everything. He's more real than so many people at your old school.

Do you want to stay with him for a day or two? You ponder the thought.

For

Just

A

Second

"Sure. Why not."

The look on John's face was a mixture of absolute joy and relief. You don't think you've ever been propositioned quite like _this_ before, if you could call it being propositioned.

"You're serious?" He looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, like a small child asking if it's really okay that he pets a puppy. "Yes. You don't seem like a murderer, and judging by your clothing and smell, you probably have a nice enough place. As long as I'm not imposing in any way, I would not mind staying with you."

He smiles at you, and you smile back.

→ BE JOHN.

You've just asked a girl to stay with you.

A girl you've just met.

You are terrified and absolutely excited.

This Rose girl, she seems extremely nice and down to earth, and you really would like this to go somewhere, but if it doesn't, she seems like a really good friend to have. Which is why you felt guilty about smoking in front of her without asking. You really wish you could stop, but you were well and truly addicted. But it stopped you from harming yourself in other, less socially accepting ways, so you went through with it.

Exposition aside, you grin at this girl, you met thirty minutes ago, who's just agreed to stay in your house. In your guest bedroom. You finally have a roommate who can watch movies with you! And play Super Monkey Ball 2 with! And prank! Oh god, you missed being able to prank somebody.

You feel like a child again, and your mom just let you have a friend stay the night. You're extremely excited and…

You're so fucking tired.

You, out of nowhere feel like you've been hit with the weight of a thousand bricks, and you nearly collapse right then and there.

"Hey, speaking of my house…" and the world goes black

You awaken, moments later, in the same spot you collapsed in. Rose is crouched over you, looking _very_ worried. You feel like shit.

"Hou lawn was out?" You slur your words, but Rose understands, almost to a disturbing degree. "Five minutes, roughly. Are you okay? What happened?" She pulls you into a sitting position, and you brush some crunchy leaves and wet dirt off your back. "I fell asleep." you sheepishly state. You had told her that you didn't get much sleep the night before, so…

"Why don't we get you home. You need to rest."

You muster up a rueful smile, and you walk back to the park entrance.

Once you reach the bike rack, she laughs. "Of course you bike everywhere!" You stop for a moment, and she reaches out, in case you fall. "Why do you say that?" She shrugs., "You seem to be the type to do it. You look like the type of guy. That's all." In reaction, you state proudly "I do it to **SAVE THE PLANET**." And your booming voice really sells it. Every man is on their knees, repenting their gas guzzling sports cars, and every woman is selling their station wagons, and every person in between is so proud of what you have to say about saving the planet and-

No, wait, Rose just looks moderately annoyed, but she's also blushing. You swear you hear her mutter something about 'of course you do it for that', but you don't know or understand, and even though you're really into her, at this point you're really into a bed, and your condo isn't too far from here.

"John, don't tell me you're gonna ride that while I walk you home." She sounds genuinely hurt, and you wonder why she's suddenly upset. "No, of course not. I'm gonna walk it next to me, while I make my way home. My house isn't too far from here anyway, so c'mon." You both begin to walk on the paved walkways, chatting curtly with each other.

You are much too tired to engage in small talk, at this very moment, and you inform Rose, but she just murmurs neutrally, and you again wonder if you've upset her, but clearly you haven't because she's walking you home.

You both arrive to your brownstone, shortly after the previous paragraph, and you pull your bike into the small garage that sits beneath your house. "Well, c'mon inside." You push the door in, but Rose hesitates.

Because of course she was too good to be true.

"I have to get some things from my car. I'll be back soon, I promise."

You look around dejectedly, and respond with a firm "Alright, just knock really loudly to wake me up. I'll be upstairs. If I don't come down, just like...chuck rocks up at the window or something."

She smiles for a moment before heading down the pathway.

You are too tired. You fall down onto the couch in your basement/garage and promptly pass out again.

→ ROSE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

You are making your way to your car, so you can get some stuff that you really REALLY need from your car. Your laptop, your knitting stuff, etc.

You aren't going to bring your car. There isn't much of a place to put it, and the car was on its last legs anyway. It might as well be scrap at this point in time. You'll walk everywhere, like you've been doing for the last month. It's worked out well, and your legs are toned as FUCK. Or so you think.

The sidewalk is long and weaving, and you slip through laneways and passageways with next to no trouble, and _man walking places is fucking boring,_ you think to yourself. If this was a story in a movie or TV show, it'd be extremely lame. You are one hundred percent sure of that.

You are soon at your car, but… did you leave the trunk open?

No. No you did not.

In desperation you beeline sprint to your car, and start tearing through the trunk. Laptop? Check. Clothes? Check-ish? Your clothes are strewn about the inside of the trunk, and you can't tell if something's been stolen. Needles? Oh no. Your plastic case of knitting needles is gone. Like, gone-gone. No needles, no scarves, no scarves, no money, no money, dead dead dead. You lose your cool for a moment. " **FUCK!** " you shout to the heavens. Birds scatter from their perches, but no one's here. You sigh, and close your trunk, pulling your laptop bag from it. You get into the driver's seat and crank the car.

Within a few minutes, you're back in front of John's… townhouse? Apartment? His place, whatever it may be called. You park in a painted-on space in front of the building, and step out, pulling your laptop bag out. You walk to the door and knock.

No answer.

 **KNOCK KNOCK**

Nope.

 **KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**

Goddammit, John, where are you?

The thought that he might've changed his mind drifts through your head.

God, you hope not. If that were the case.

You lay your head against the door.

Fuck. Again.

The door opens and you immediately fall, only to be caught by John.


End file.
